


worth my while

by dustofwarfare



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Banter, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, Friends to Lovers, Pegging, Post-Canon, Sex Toys, canon referenced character deaths briefly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22871326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: "I like it when you fuck me from behind,” she says. “So if I’m going to do this, I’ll do it that way. Unless you have complaints, in which case, you need to be reminded how awesome I am and how lucky you are, and shut up about them.”_________________________During their honeymoon, Hilda finds a sex toy and decides to show Claude that she will totally put effort into things, as long as they are worth her while.Claude makes sure it is.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 194





	worth my while

**Author's Note:**

> I just finished Golden Deer and I _lost my mind_ for these two. I love the idea that they're playful and fun in bed. And I believe in my soul Claude von Riegan would be into getting pegged.
> 
> No real spoilers except for Claude's backstory; no real warnings other than brief mentions of canonical character death. There was more angst here, but I wanted them to have a good time.

It is the second day after Claude’s wedding, and he and his new bride are spending the traditional week in the so-called “honeymoon tent.” It is supposed to be a time for them to get to know each other, to get over the awkwardness young couples sometimes feel upon marriage and to cement their bonds of affection in both the physical and emotional sense. 

Or it’s so they can fuck like bunnies. 

Which...well. Claude and his new bride have certainly done _that._ It was a stressful few weeks leading up to the wedding, and they didn’t have a lot of time to themselves. They are certainly enjoying the privacy. 

The war is over, but peace isn’t a given. It’s going to take a lot of work, and Claude knows it isn’t going to be easy, but he -- 

He blinks as a grape hits him square between the eyes. “Hel _lo_ , Claude! It’s your turn!” 

Lady Riegan, the future queen of Almyra, reclines back on the floor pillows, sipping wine and availing herself of the finger-foods that have been provided as sustenance during their week-long cohabitation. 

The point of the bite-sized food is for them to feed each other, but instead, they’re tossing grapes to see who can catch the most with their mouths. So far, his wife is winning. She’s not a graceful winner, either. He kind of loves that about her. 

Their marriage was quasi-political in that it _was_ an attempt to bring some peaceful feelings between Fodlan and Almyra, but mostly, they just wanted to see if they could get away with it and then throw one hell of a party. 

“Sorry, my sweet.” Claude bows from the waist, then obediently opens his mouth. 

“You’re going to want to lean back. You have terrible posture. This is why you’re losing,” his wife informs him. “You should really take my advice since I’m totally winning, _husband_.” 

Claude leans back on his hands. The grape sails over his head. That is the reason he’s losing, not his posture. “Your advice is worthless if you can’t throw for shit, _wife._ ” 

“I could throw an axe and take your head off,” Hilda Goneril von Riegan says sweetly. “Try again.” 

He raises his head at the exact second she throws another grape. It hits him square in the forehead and bounces off. Claude catches it -- he _does_ have pretty good reflexes, his wife’s inability to aim properly or throw _softly_ notwithstanding -- and tosses it back at her. 

She lunges like a startled cat to catch the grape in her mouth -- which she does, but knocks her wine glass over in the process. It spills all over one of the pillows, staining it red. “Oops! Shit. Great.” 

Claude laughs, grinning outright. “You’re this adorable, vicious little force of pure chaos and destruction. I can’t believe I get to _keep_ you.” 

Hilda smiles back at him, and bats her eyelashes. “I can’t believe it, either, and believe me, you’re gonna have to work for it. You _are_ lucky, though, that’s true. I’m awesome.” 

“Yeah, you really are pretty --” he holds up another piece of fruit. Claude waggles his eyebrows. “Wait for it.” 

“Don’t,” she threatens, but she’s clearly trying not to laugh. 

“Pretty _grape_ ,” he says, and throws the grape right at her face. 

She catches it in her mouth, because he’s way better at this game than she is. No matter what the scoreboard says. 

“Goddess, you’re ridiculous.” She snorts. “Can you imagine the terror that is going to be our children?” 

“Let’s send them to visit your brother and Lorenz every summer,” Claude suggests. Holst, who had been so excited at the thought of Lorenz joining their family, had eventually gotten his wish. Their wedding would have been super boring if not for Hilda and Claude -- who’d also taken the opportunity to announce their _own_ engagement, just to steal Lorenz’s thunder. 

He was still mad about it. It was a shining moment in the crown of Claude and Hilda’s mischief-making. Lorenz was fun to annoy, now that they were friends. Lorenz might feel differently. 

“Not until they’re old enough to really cause a lot of trouble, though.” Hilda’s smile turns into something soft. Part of it is probably the wine, and the rest of it is probably the sex, but Claude doesn’t mind at all. “I’m really happy, Claude. I mean, I don’t want to ruin our moment by making it _sappy_ , but. I am.” 

Only Hilda would think being sappy would ruin their _honeymoon_ . “Good. Me, too.” He is. Of all the people he ever thought he’d end up with, he’d always hoped it would be someone as wonderfully high-maintenance, sneaky, brave, fierce and _hot_ as Hilda.

“I never thought I’d get to, like, marry someone who I had fun with, you know?” She draws her knees up and wraps her arms around them, the gauze and silk of her traditional Almyran skirts a soft puddle of fabric around her. “I thought I’d end up married to some stuffy noble. And great, fine, I can handle it, but...Claude, I actually _like_ you.” She smiles. “You know?” 

“Yeah,” he says, warmth suffusing him as he looks at her. “I know.” 

“And like. You’re so fun! You’re amazing in bed, gods, your _mouth_ is -- well, I guess you better be good with it, given how much you run it. And Goddess, you are _so_ hot.” Hilda picks up a stem of grapes, breaks it off the bunch, and shuffles over so she’s in front of him. “I mean, I respect your brilliant tactical brain or whatever, but wow, are you good-looking. Even more than you were when we first met. And. Especially when you’re naked.” 

“What was that?” Claude asks, politely, though he’s flushing in pleasure at her praise. “I was too busy staring at your tits to hear you.” 

She throws her head back and laughs; loud and lusty, perfect Hilda. She presents a grape between two slender, calloused fingers, teasing it against his mouth. “Don’t let it go to your head.” 

“Too late.” Claude winks at her, then takes the grape by sucking it -- and her fingers -- into his mouth. “I like you, too,” he says, and reaches out for her hand. “Actually, Hilda -- brace yourself, here. I might even -- dare I say it --” he tugs her forward, smiling. “ _Love_ you.” 

“Ew,” she says, her cute nose wrinkling. But her eyes sparkle, and she throws her arms around him and kisses him soundly. “You better love me. I mean, I love you, too, _obviously_. I moved here for you and everything. The climate is going to be murder on my hair.” 

Claude tumbles her back on the pillows -- not the one she spilled the wine all over -- and kisses her. “The sacrifices you’ve made for peace will be remembered in story and song for generations.” 

“Good. Build me a monument and make sure it’s pretty.” She wraps her arms around his neck and smiles at him. “The best thing about these Almyran clothes are how easy they are to take off.” 

“Still trying to get me to do what you want through clever hints, huh?” Claude asks. 

“It wasn’t that clever, because it wasn’t really much of a hint.” She runs her fingers through his hair and scratches as his scalp. “Think of it more like, hmm. An order. I’m practicing for when I’m a queen someday.” 

“Ah, Hilda,” he teases, and sets to work. “I’m pretty sure you don’t need it, but practice away.” 

***

It’s Hilda that finds the sex toys. 

It’s day four, and it is clear that neither of them are used to this much time to themselves. They’ve talked about everything under the sun, played Charades and a few games of truth or dare, walked to the hot springs near the tent to bathe and to give servants time to change the linens and bring fresh food, and taken _naps_. After five years of war and the political uncertainty of his home country, Claude finds the luxury of an afternoon nap almost as good as the sex. 

Almost. The sex really _is_ great. 

Then they come up with a few names for their hypothetical children (Hilda is joking about naming a daughter Valentine von Riegan, but Claude likes it), and a few ridiculous laws that Claude could pass when he’s king. 

They also spend a lot of time wrapped up in each other, not having sex but just _touching,_ learning how to let someone past the walls that only naturally spring up after five years of war. They have serious talks about the people they’ve lost, the people they’ve killed. Hilda cries about Dorothea. Claude cries about Dimitri. So much lost potential. So many lost friends. 

Hilda is now wearing _Claude’s_ traditional Almyran loose silk pants and a simple chemise, and Claude is bare-chested and wearing nothing but the gauzy silk of Hilda’s skirts. Her hair is up in an elaborate twists of braids, courtesy of Claude, and he has some beads in his, courtesy of Hilda.

She’s kneeling in front of a chest tucked in the corner of the tent that neither of them had investigated. Claude assumes it has linens or tableware or something equally dull, but she starts giggling and says, “I can’t believe _we_ didn’t find this until day four. Day _four_. I’m disappointed in us.” With that, she lifts something out of the box and waves it at him. 

“It only took you four days to get tired of my dick and want a new one?” Claude asks, sitting cross-legged on the pillow. “Thanks for that.” 

She rolls her eyes, but examines the object -- it’s a finely-made, curved glass dildo with a flared head. Watching Hilda’s clever, axe-calloused fingers slide over it makes his own cock stir beneath the silk gauze of his -- well, _her_ \-- skirts. 

“Is that why this is in here? In case you can’t keep up with my sexual demands for seven days?” 

“Hilda, I vow to keep up with your sexual demands the rest of my life, don’t even worry about that. But no. Almyran marriages aren’t always between a man or a woman, so I guess it’s there just in case it’s, uh. Needed?” 

“Only a man would think two women need a dick to be happy,” Hilda says, rolling her eyes. 

Claude flashes a grin at her. “Okay, fine, in case they _want_ it. How’s that? Or maybe it _is_ for a man with an insatiable hussy of a queen, like me.” 

“Hey, watch it, mister, or me and my new boyfriend here will have all the fun without you.” Hilda rummages around some more, pulling out oil, some rope, and a black leather strap for the dildo that she actually doesn’t recognize at first. 

Claude tells her it’s a contraption to put on a saddle so two people can have sex on the back of a wyvern, and she believes him for, oh, maybe four seconds before he ends up ducking a pillow chucked across the room at him. It’s a good thing it’s just a pillow. Her aim is on point and she’s used to throwing axes. Her aim with the pillow is a lot better than the grapes, meaning she was trying to make him lose that game on purpose.

“I can’t believe I almost bought that. Sex on a wyvern saddle.” She crosses her arms under those glorious breasts of hers and shakes her head. There’s a look on her face that says _I am up to something._

Claude _loves_ that look. It helped them take Fort Merceus, and he’s been on the receiving end of more fun applications of it the last few days. “You can, you know. Have sex on the back of a wyvern. Without a contraption, you just have to have really strong thighs. Which, and I’m just pointing this out, we both do.” 

“Duh. And no, um, the wyvern doesn’t want any part of that and I feel like if it can’t say yes, it’s not consent. We got that lecture from the professor, remember?” 

“I do not remember the professor telling us not to fuck on the back of a wyvern, no.” 

“About _consent_ , you absolute moron.” 

“You...do realize I wasn’t talking about having sex _with_ the wyvern, right?” 

“It should still get a say in whether or not people fuck on its back.” It’s so cute how she blushes a little when she says _fuck_. It makes the color of her cheeks the same as her hair and her bright eyes. 

“We don’t ask it before we ride it into war,” Claude points out. 

“Maybe we should. Either way….” She comes over with the dildo, the straps and a bottle of oil. “So what is this really for?” 

“For you to wear it,” Claude says, showing her how the curved glass slides in the ring, and how to adjust the straps. 

“Me?” 

“I already have one,” Claude says, dryly. 

“Not made out of glass, you don’t. But, huh.” She glances at it, then at him. “Do we get to keep this? I like yours because it’s attached to you, but now I’m used to getting laid and I don’t want to give that up in case you fuck up and make me mad.” 

“Hilda,” Claude says, voice full of affection. “Of course you can keep it, it’s for us, right? What did you think, there was a communal box of Almyran sex toys for every wedding?” He laughs. “You did, didn’t you.” 

“Neither confirming nor denying that, but maybe you shouldn’t tell me so many _lies_ and I’d believe you.” She watches him, stroking the slick glass of the curved cock. It’s pretty, a deep blue with swirls of green. “They really make sex toys for everyone who gets married?” 

“Maybe it’s just royalty? Future royalty? This is the first time I’ve ever been married, but I think my parents have a chest like that in their room and wow, I do _not_ want to think about that. Or what was in it. I thought it was blankets, and I’m going to keep thinking that so the words _sex toys_ and _my parents_ are never in the same sentence.” 

“Now you know how the wyvern feels,” Hilda says, and adds sweetly, “And this is the first _and_ last time you’re getting married, so we’re clear.” She hits the curved head of the glass dildo on her palm. It’s vaguely threatening and weirdly arousing. 

“Clear as that glass dildo you’re treating like a mace,” Claude says. 

“Good. So, should I try it out?” 

Like there is any answer to that other than _yes, please, do it right now._ “I’m definitely not going to say no to watching _that_ but I might get jealous if you like it better than me,” says Claude, because sometimes being an instigator is his truest joy in life. 

She smiles, that little mischievous grin he likes so much, and says, “I was thinking I’d try it on _you_.” 

“Oh,” Claude says, blinking. “Really?” 

“What, you don’t think you’d be into it?” She tilts her head, considering. “That’s surprising, Mr. I’d Fuck You On A Wyvern.” 

“I didn’t say -- I just meant that it can be done, I wouldn’t actually _do_ it. And it’s not that I don’t think _I’d_ be into it -- you using that on me, I mean, just so we’re clear that I’m not talking about wyverns. I’m sure I would be, I’ll try most anything once. It’s just that...hmmm. How do I say this without you beating me over the head with a glass cock?” He taps a finger on his chin. 

“ _Carefully_ ,” says Hilda, eyes glinting. 

“I didn’t think _you_ would be into it,” he says, shrugging. “It’s a lot of work. My quads are gonna feel this week for the next month, and I’m used to riding --” 

“Compare me to a wyvern and this tent will be the place where you die, von Riegan.” 

“Riding beautiful creatures,” Claude finishes. “But honestly, you can be a bit of a pillow princess, Hilda.” 

She scoffs at that. “Excuse me, but whose fault is that, huh, Mr. Leader Man? You’re a _prince_. You married me and brought me in this tent full of pillows, so….? What did you expect?” 

“Pretty much this.” Claude puts his fist over his heart and bows like he learned to do in Fodlan. “No complaints.” 

“You better _not_ have any complaints, and are you saying you don’t think I could do it? Because if you made it worth my while, you know I could.” 

The thing about Hilda that people don’t really understand, Claude thinks, is that she isn’t lazy or unmotivated. She likes to get people to do things for her as a game, sure, but she also doesn’t like to waste her time or energy on things that she has no interest in. 

Hilda will put in the work if she gets appropriate rewards. Her lackadaisical attitude from their academy days was in part due to a fear of disappointing others, not to mention how spoiled she was by her brother and doting father. It was also as much a part of her carefully constructed personality as Claude’s easy smiles and friendliness.

They would make great con artists, really. No one ever expects Hilda to be an axe-wielding force of nature, and no one gives Claude any credit for his brain and his shrewd understanding of other people.

And his shrewd understanding gets what Hilda is after, here -- _let me show you that you matter._

“If you want to fuck me, I’m all for it,” Claude tells her. 

“Have you…?” 

He knows what she's really asking and shakes his head. “No, but I’ve -- you know. Used my fingers a few times. Just to see.” The cock is a lot bigger than his fingers, but Claude’s never been one to turn away from a challenge. 

“Will you leave that skirt on for a little while, though, because that is _really_ doing it for me,” says Hilda. 

“Sure,” he agrees, his cock stirring at the thought. “It’s apparently doing it for me, too.” 

“I sort of, maybe, kind of,” she says, setting down the contraption to pull off her thin chemise, “had a couple of dirty thoughts about you in that dancer’s outfit back at school.” Her eyes go wide. “Do you still have that?” 

“I…might?” says Claude, considering, idly palming his cock as he watches her shimmy out of his too-big trousers and step into the straps of the harness. “I was a little smaller back then, though, so it’d need a few alterations if I did find it.” 

Hilda gets the contraption situated, and it’s -- well, it’s quite something to see. Hilda is smaller than her personality might suggest, lithe and muscular from wyvern-riding and wielding her favorite axe, but she’s a good eight inches shorter than Claude. Seeing her naked with that pretty curved glass cock between her legs, and the contrast of the black leather straps against her fair skin, makes his mouth dry. 

The skirts he’s wearing are mostly just strips of fabric hanging from a belt, as they are sometimes worn with shorts (not unlike his old dancer’s outfit, in fact) or over an underskirt, as Hilda wore for their wedding. She pushes the fabric aside so she can kneel between his legs, and takes up the oil. “You can get yourself ready for me, right?” It’s the same tone she used back at the monastery to get her classmates to do her chores and make her tea. 

Claude takes up the bottle of oil and nods. “Sure. But I need a little _romance,_ here, Hilda. Some inspiration.” 

“You look pretty inspired,” she says dryly, reaching out to pat his hard cock. “I can be bossy some more, if you want.” 

“I won’t say no to that. Come on, Hilda. Tell me how much you want to fuck me.” Claude passes her the bottle of oil once his fingers are coated. 

“Work for it, and I will,” she says, and Claude has to laugh.

Claude bends his knees and spreads his legs enough for her to see him start teasing himself, fingering his hole and letting himself enjoy the little shivers of sensation. 

“Does that feel good?” she asks, watching him. 

He nods. “Yeah. You’re going to need to use that oil on your, ah, _equipment,_ though. It’s pretty big.” 

Hilda tosses her hair, smirking, and gives her glass cock a few showy strokes. “Intimidated, are you?” 

“I do have to sit on that wyvern when we head home,” Claude reminds her, dryly. 

Hilda tips the bottle of oil and gets way too much, because of course she does. “Oops!” She glances around, shrugs, then wipes the excess on her breasts. At Claude’s sudden gasp, she gives him a wicked smile and starts rubbing her slick fingers over her nipples. “You like that?” 

“Yeah,” Claude manages, slipping one finger inside. It’s tight; he hasn’t done this for a long time, and he’s starting to feel a little bit like maybe he’s biting off more than he can chew, here -- metaphorically speaking. That dildo is a _lot_ bigger than his fingers.

“You should stroke that cock of yours for me,” Claude encourages. 

She blushes -- _cute_ \-- but slides her hand down, unhurried, and wraps it around the curved glass cock. “Show me how,” she demands. “I just got one of these, you know.” 

She’s done it to _him_ plenty of times by now, but he plays along. “Start slow. Like this.” He drops his hand and strokes himself, slow and easy. 

Hilda moves her hand at the same time over her new toy. She looks very pleased with herself. “Like this?” 

Claude nods, trying to finger himself _and_ keep stroking his cock at the same time. It’s not easy, but luckily he’s flexible and highly motivated. “Like that, yeah. Do it -- mm, a little faster.” He suits actions to words, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. 

Hilda does the same, biting her lip, her face flushed like maybe she can actually feel it, too. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” Claude says, staring at her. He’s got a pretty good rhythm, slowly stroking himself and fucking his hole with one oil-slick finger. 

“I know. You look -- mmm, it’s sexy,” she says, shivering a little. “Watching you do that.” 

“Finger myself, stroke my cock, or both?” Claude asks. “For future reference, I’m keeping a list of all the things you like.” 

She smiles and pats him on the inner thigh. “I like being adored and spoiled, duh. I’m not that complicated.” 

“Nah, you are. Part of your charm. I once watched you take out an entire enemy battalion with a half-broken axe on an injured wyvern and yet, you still made someone else fix you tea when we got back to Garreg Mach.” 

Hilda shrugs. “My arms were tired. And can we not talk about my admittedly awesome feats in battle? It’d kill my boner if it wasn’t made of glass.” 

Claude gives an honest bark of surprised laughter and nods. “I’m just saying. You’re more complicated than you want people to think.” 

“Look who’s talking, _future king of Almyra_.” 

“Look who’s talking too _much_ , future queen of Almyra.” 

Hilda huffs, but she rubs her hand up his thigh and over the planes of his stomach. “You’re so stupidly hot, Claude. It’s kind of infuriating. How dare you be this good looking.” 

“Glad I -- ah -- am bringing something to the table in this marriage,” he manages, adding a second finger as he fucks himself a little harder. He’d forgotten how good this feels -- honestly, he’d forgotten over the last five or so years that things _could_ feel good. “Gods, Hilda, we are _definitely_ keeping that. I love watching you touch it.” His hand speeds up on his cock; hers follows suit. “Can you -- will you take your hair down for me?” 

“Ew, my hand is all oily, it’ll make my hair look awful!” 

As turned on as he is, Claude rolls his eyes. “I’ll wash it for you.” 

“That means we have to walk to the baths!” She’s playing it up, he can tell. He could always tell. It’s one reason they probably fell in love; he knew when she was deflecting out of nerves, and she knew when his smiles never quite reached his eyes. 

“I’ll carry you,” he promises. “Please.” 

“Well, that was nice you said _please._ ” Her eyes narrow. “Piggyback ride to the baths. Promise.” 

“Promise.” Claude lifts his hand off his cock and extends his pinky. She stops stroking her glass dildo to do the sacred pinky swear, then sighs like he’s just asked her to run back to Enbarr and reaches up to undo the braids. 

Claude watches her shake her hair out, and the picture she makes -- kneeling between his spread legs, skin glistening from the oil she’s rubbed all over herself, pink hair falling in soft waves around her and flushed with arousal...it’s too much, so he has to take his hand off his cock and go back to working himself open. 

“How do you want me to fuck you?” she asks, and it’s a good thing he took his hand off his cock or that might have made him come right then and there. “Like, what’s the best way to do it?” 

“Any way you want,” he says, his fingers sliding slickly in and out of his hole. He’s definitely getting nice and loose for her, breathing coming faster, incredibly turned on.

“Um, I’ve never done _this_ part before,” she reminds him. She’s still idly playing with the now oiled-up glass cock, but her other hand is touching him -- his thighs, his stomach, his chest. “You’re the one who was complaining it was too much effort, so, you tell me.” 

“I think you are remembering that conversation entirely wrong,” Claude says, only a little breathless. “I will never complain about fucking you. How do _you_ like it best?” 

“Stop answering my questions with questions,” Hilda says, pouting. 

Claude bats his eyelashes, aware he’s being a shit. Whatever, she must like that or she wouldn’t have married him. “Why?” 

“I can take this off and fuck myself with it, you know.” She rolls her eyes at Claude, who moans and arches his back at the _thought_ of watching her do that. “And not let you watch.” 

“Tyrant,” he gasps, fucking himself harder. He’s so turned on he can’t stay still, and he has to keep pushing the strips of gauze out of his way. 

“Mmm. I like it when you fuck me from behind,” she says. “So if I’m going to do this, I’ll do it that way. Unless you have complaints, in which case, you need to be reminded how awesome I am and how lucky you are, and shut up about them.” 

“Hilda, stop making me laugh. I’m trying to be sexy, here,” Claude protests.

She smiles at him, then; it’s the same one she gave him at their wedding when no one could see her face but him, or this morning when she thought he was asleep and was playing with his hair, or after they held each other and cried in the dark. “You couldn’t not be sexy if you tried. And I like making you laugh. Really laugh, where I can see it in your eyes.” 

“You pick the worst times to be romantic,” he whines, hitting his head back on the pillow. “Damn it, Hilda.” 

“Buck up and get used to it, Claude. You ready for this cock or not?” 

“I am, yeah,” he agrees, breathless. “But the skirt, sorry, it’s probably gotta go. I’ll find that dancer’s outfit, promise.” 

“ _O_ kay, I _guess._ ” She gives a little huff but tugs on the belt of the skirt, and he obediently lifts his hips so they can slide it off. It involves a lot of wriggling, but eventually they get the fabric off with no damage. 

Claude turns on his stomach and pushes up to his hands and knees. Hilda moves behind him, and he can feel the cool curve of the glass against the back of his upper thigh. “Are you -- are you sure, Claude? What if I hurt you?” 

“Hilda.” Claude looks over his shoulder -- gods, he could get a hand on himself and come in _seconds_ just looking at her like this; breathing hard, her hands on his hips, the slick glass cock jutting out between her pretty thighs. “Do it just like I did when it was my first time fucking _you_.” 

“So, I should go way too slow and talk too much?” 

“Yep.” Claude drops his head and laughs; she smacks him on the ass for that and his cock gets even harder between his legs. “This is -- ah. Quite the learning experience.” 

“Right? The professor would be _so_ proud of us. Best assigned task, ever.” Hilda sucks in a breath. “Okay, well, tell me if I should stop.” She gives him a little pat on his flank like a wyvern. 

It’s sort of cute. He wisely doesn’t mention it. 

Claude feels the blunt head of the glass cock against his hole, warm from her hand and the oil. He shifts his position so his hips are angled up and his head down, reaching beneath himself to play with his cock and shivering in anticipation. He’s been curious before about this, maybe thought about it a few times, what it would be like. 

Never with Hilda, which honestly, makes it even better. He does like to be surprised. 

Except instead of being surprised by a cock sliding inside him, he’s surprised by Hilda _tapping him on the shoulder._ Like she’s trying to get his attention in a war council. “Claude, um.” 

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to,” he says, to the pillow. “This is supposed to be fun, remember?”

“I want to, just -- I really, really don’t want to hurt you.” There’s a catch in her voice that seems entirely at odds with what they’re doing. He feels her fingers on his back, skirting over some of the scars where he wasn’t quite quick enough to escape a stray arrow or a lance. He’d been fairly lucky when it came to injuries, though the scar she’s tracing is perhaps his worst one -- courtesy of a lance from their old friend Ferdinand von Aegir, Hilda’s favorite human teapot, loyal to his emperor and his beliefs until the end. 

Claude walked away from that fight. Ferdinand did not. 

“You won’t,” Claude promises. He does not want to think about the war. “We can always stop and play Charades, instead.” 

“No way, I’m here for this, I’m into it, I just want you to like it. Also, by the way, you’re terrible at that game. I can’t believe you thought _Sieros_ sounded like _bear nose_. Also, your bear impression is the actual worst.” 

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.” 

“Uh-huh. It looked like a poisoned horse stumbling off to die.” 

“Harsh.” Claude smiles down at the pillow. “Are you going to fuck me or make fun of me, huh?” 

“Claude,” she says, beginning to ease the dildo in with slow, careful pushes of her hips, “I can safely say that the answer to that question, for the rest of our natural lives, will always be _both._ ” 

He can live with that. “I’m counting on it. Go ahead, sweetheart. I promise I’ll tell you to stop if I don’t like it.” He’s counting on liking it. There’s no way Hilda can look as hot as she does and this _not_ feel amazing. 

Claude is nothing if not an optimist. 

Except that in hindsight, maybe they should have started with something way smaller than this particular dildo -- but Claude likes a challenge, and while Hilda is about as patient as a house fire she also doesn’t want to hurt him, so they take it slow. It means shifting around and adding some more oil, and Hilda complaining her knees hurt, and it’s very _them_ in a way that Claude finds charming because he’s sort of a besotted idiot. 

By the time she’s all the way in, they’re both breathing hard and Claude is covered in sweat, his thighs trembling and his neck aching from holding so much tension as she breached him. 

Still, when she says, “You took all of that, wow,” her voice all full of wifely pride, he haphazardly lifts one hand for her to fistbump. 

“Go -- ah -- team von Riegan.” 

“Guess you really are taking one for the team.” She giggles, then spends some time running her hands up and down his back, over his ass and thighs, and he shivers when he feels her fingers trace over the skin stretched around the dildo.

Claude breathes out, shifts beneath her, curious at this new sensation that isn’t painful but isn’t comfortable, not exactly. As warm as the oil and her hand made the glass, it’s still unyielding and hard, nothing like an actual cock would be. The curve of it and the flared head is putting pressure on places that are almost, but not quite, where he thinks he wants it. 

“Is it -- do you like it?” 

“Ah, it’s -- sort of -- a lot,” he says, shifting around experimentally. “I don’t want to stop, though. Do _you_?” 

“No. I like how you look. You’re all tense and it makes your muscles look amazing, sorry I’m so shallow.” Her hands rub over his back, trace the muscles made lean and taut from years of archery and wielding weapons. “And I kinda like how it feels like I’m...mm. Taking you? You’re better at dirty talk than I am.” 

“Are you admitting defeat? Hilda. No. That’s good, and I don’t mind you being shallow ‘cause it means I can tell you how much I like your tits and not feel bad about it.” He breathes in, and out, their usual banter helping him relax around the intrusion of the dildo. 

“Go team von Riegan,” she says, and then leans down, kissing him on the shoulder. As she does, the tip of the glass cock slides over something and Claude sees _stars._

He cries out, grabbing at the pillow beneath him. “Fuck, _fuck_ …!” 

“What? Claude?” Hilda moves as if she’s going to pull out entirely, and that pulls the head of the dildo over that spot _again,_ so Claude flails one hand out to grab at her hip. 

“Don’t -- no, just do that -- again, do it _again_.” 

“You mean -- Oh! Okay, right, uh.” Hilda must have raised up on her knees to lean forward and kiss him so she does that again. It’s not _quite_ right at first, the angle a little off, but she eventually finds it again. 

Claude feels that strange sensation deep within, sparks of pleasure echoing up from the base of his spine and his cock is so hard it is _aching_ even without a hand on it. “It -- feels better when you grind like that, yeah, _yeah_ , wow, that’s -- _go team fucking von Riegan_ , gods, Hilda--”

“Yeah,” she breathes, clearly in her element now, and she leans in, circles her hips and grinds the tip of the glass cock so perfectly that Claude can’t breathe. “Told you I’d be good at it if you made it worth my while.” 

“Nnngh,” Claude manages, panting loudly. There’s sweat in his eyes, his hair is hanging in his face and he doesn’t want to move or adjust his position to touch himself, so he’s just kneeling there while she fucks him and talks about how good she is at it, and Claude just sort of moans helplessly and nods and prays she won’t stop. 

“If I look half this hot when you’re fucking me, no wonder you like it,” she says, cheerful and clearly pleased with herself. 

“You - you do,” Claude manages, because talking isn’t easy and words are hard, but marital disharmony is _harder_ and he is going to do whatever it takes to make her want to do this again. It is his new mission in life, right up there with making peace between Almyra and Fodlan and hey, maybe this is how he should propose they just do _this --_

“Are you _laughing_ at me?” Hilda rests more of her weight on him and drives the cock deeper, her hips circling and grinding and thrusting just enough to drive him crazy. “If you are laughing at me I will _stop_ , Claude.” 

Claude makes a very embarrassing sound like a whine. “No, I, ah, _ah_ , just -- _ohhh --._ ”

“You’re, like, actually speechless. Wow.” She presses a kiss to his back. “Tell me I’m the best.” 

“You really -- really are the best---” Claude’s fingers are clutching hard at the fabric of the pillow, and he can feel his arms trembling. He’s not going to be able to hold himself up for much longer. 

“Tell me how much you like me fucking you,” Hilda says, and then, “Also tell me what I’m doing right, because I kind of can’t tell which thing you like the most and this is _really_ tiring. I see what you mean about the thigh workout.” 

“Just -- don’t _stop_ \--” he can’t even think. 

Finally his arms give up and he stretches out full-length on the pillow with a groan. He’ll push himself back up if he needs to, but Hilda sort of follows him down so she’s this warm weight on his back, her breasts pressed against him -- _oh, gods --_ and her hips grinding in slow, maddening circles. 

“Like this?” 

“Yeah, _yeah_ \--” Claude now has friction against his cock, the corded brocade of the pillow, and he’s rutting mindlessly down on it while Hilda grinds that beautiful glass dildo inside him and makes his body shake with helpless want. 

“You look _so hot_ , Claude, riding a wyvern’s never been this much fun,” she gasps out. 

Claude laughs, or tries to, but it mostly escapes as a wheeze. The sensation is _intense_ , he feels it in the base of his spine and his ass as well as his cock, and his mouth is open, his eyes squeezed shut as he gasps for air. 

Claude’s entire body goes tense and he’s so close, on the edge, desperately rutting for the friction he needs to come -- 

“I am _so_ riding your face after this,” says Hilda. “Maybe twice.” She keeps going, over and over with the perfect pressure and it builds and builds and -- 

Claude comes so hard he nearly passes out. His ears are ringing. He thinks he’s maybe dying and he doesn’t even care. 

Which might be because he’s got his face buried in the pillow and is nearly smothering himself as it all finally crests and breaks. The pressure inside of him makes every pulse of his release feel like he’s coming _again and again,_ and it takes a long time before he realizes he’s biting the pillow as his body shakes through the most intense orgasm he’s ever had. His face is wet with sweat and tears, which, that’s a first -- and it’s not over, the aftershocks twinging through him like electricity. 

When Claude has enough energy to turn his head - and that is really all he can manage, wow -- he sees Hilda is lying next to him, sweaty, her long hair sticking to her skin. The dildo and the harness are gone, and she’s gasping up at the ceiling of the tent as her hand works between her legs. 

Claude feels too boneless to do anything but watch; it doesn’t take her long, either, before he sees her toes point and her thighs shake as she presses her palm against her sex and shudders through her own orgasm. 

“Wow,” Hilda says, after she catches her breath. “I can’t even with how hot you just were.” She beams, sweaty and red-faced and, for once, not complaining about it. “Did I kill you with sex?” 

“Mm. Mmmhmm.” Claude blinks, flops a hand out pats in her general direction. “Dead. Miss you. Bye.” 

She snorts. "Well, I guess _that_ was a rousing success. You know what that means!" She throws her arms up and says, “Hilda! Hilda! Hilda!” 

He laughs, or tries; it comes out mostly as a panting little huffing sound. Honestly, if he had the energy and the lung capacity? He’d probably be chanting right along with her. She definitely earned it. 

“Claude, for real, do not die in our wedding tent, I can _not_ handle another war right now.” 

“I”m not dead,” he assures her, smiling. “Just fucked out, Hilda. That was _amazing_. I will literally give you anything you want if you fuck me like that a few times a week.” 

“Claude, you will literally give me anything I want because you love me,” she says, but moves over and draws her fingers over the muscles of his upper arm. He shivers pleasantly at her touch. “I think we can come to a satisfactory arrangement with you in that dancer’s outfit.” 

“It’s a deal,” Claude says, taking her hand in his and kissing it. “Now, Lady Riegan, if you’d like to climb on my face and ride it, I believe I owe you a few earth-shattering orgasms of your own.” 

“I think you should let me lie here and you can just go ahead and deliver on that promise, Lord Riegan. Fucking the king really takes it out of a girl.” Hilda smiles and reaches out, tugging on his hair. 

Claude drapes her legs over his shoulders, kissing down her chest and stomach -- there’s a lingering taste of oil, but it’s not unpleasant -- and presses a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh. He loves doing this, she always tastes so good and makes the sexiest little sounds. 

They’re lucky and they both know it. War leaves horrors even among the victors, and their happiness is a fragile thing; a flower that was tended and grown in the harshest of soils. That they’re here to see it bloom is something amazing, and he’s never going to take it for granted. 

If they do write songs about them, Claude thinks as he loses himself in the taste of her, he hopes it’s a love song. Or a bawdy one that people get in trouble for singing in public. 

If it could somehow be both romantic _and_ bawdy... that would be the best song of all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sure sure everyone says Hilda is lazy, and then she's a _tank_ in my playthrough and constantly destroys everyone, so, let's say she likes to put effort into things that are fun i.e. pegging her hot husband, thank you for coming to my Ted talk.


End file.
